


Things Have Changed For Me (And That's Okay)

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-09
Updated: 2009-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know you're my brother, right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Have Changed For Me (And That's Okay)

**Author's Note:**

> Divorce fic. Coping strategies come in all kinds of shapes and sizes. Apparently this is mine. Very possibly the cheesiest thing ever written. Also unbeta'd, because I broke both of mine. (They weren't ready yet. I'm sorry, you guys!)

Spencer's sitting at the breakfast table, groggily contemplating the unpleasant task of packing—again—when Ryan comes in and sits down next to him at the table. He watches Spencer closely, wordlessly, for a long moment.

 

"What?" Spencer says eventually, arching a curious eyebrow. Ryan doesn't usually beat around the bush like this. Not with Spencer.

 

Ryan chews at his lower lip. "You know you're my brother, right?" is what he eventually says, his tone more serious than Spencer's ever heard it.

  
The words are so unexpected that it takes a moment before Spencer can even respond.

 

"Yeah," he says cautiously, but Ryan shakes his head.

 

"I just—look, Spence. That won't change, okay? It would never change. I can't even remember the time before I met you, and you...you're my brother. Nothing could change that."

 

"Ryan," Spencer says evenly. "What the fuck are you trying to say, man?"

 

Ryan doesn't drop his gaze. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that. In case you might be worried about it or something. In case you maybe wanted to make a choice, a choice you didn't think you could make if you didn't want to lose me. That's all."

 

Something cold trickles slowly into Spencer's stomach, and he doesn't try to pretend not to understand what Ryan is saying.

 

"Are you—" His voice is hoarse. He breaks off, tries again. "Are you trying to say you don't want me to come with you?"

 

Ryan smiles. "Don't be a fucking moron." His smile fades, softens, but doesn't disappear. "I just—I know you, okay? You would never say it, probably wouldn't even think it, because I was your best friend first and you'd feel...disloyal about it, maybe, but. I'm just saying that you don't have to feel that way. I don't have to be in a band with you to be your brother. And you—I don't really think you want to leave."

 

He pushes himself to his feet, then shrugs awkwardly.

 

"Maybe I'm wrong," he says, as he's walking back out the door. "I just—I knew you knew you didn't have to choose with him, that what's going on with the band is totally separate from your friendship. I just didn't think it was fair if you didn't know that about me, too."

 

And then Ryan is gone, and Spencer is left alone with his thoughts, shock pushing the last mists of sleep out of his brain, leaving him hyper-alert with his mind racing.

 

They're leaving tomorrow. They're leaving tomorrow to go to Ryan's new place, him and Ryan, and Jon is flying out to join them, and the announcement won't be made for quite some time yet, but they all know that this is really the moment that marks the end.

 

Spencer still can't quite believe it, has never really gotten over the cold knot of disbelief in his stomach, the sheer impossibility of accepting that this could really be happening, that it can really be over, just like this, that something isn't going to come along and miraculously _change _this.

 

He knows it isn't going to happen. He knows. But he hasn't _accepted _it yet.

 

It's all going down like the world's most amicable divorce—the quiet serious talks, the teary eyes nobody admits to or acknowledges, the painful honesty. The decision that their friendship is more important than the band, and the tragic truth is that if they stay together as a band, there is going to come a day when Ryan and Brendon in particular won't be _able_ to be friends anymore. The fights, the constant head-butting, the strained distance between them that's been growing a little at a time, inexorably, since probably forever—it's going to break, someday, maybe irreparably, and it hurts, but it's better to do this now, when they can part as friends and maintain it, maybe even recover some of their former closeness. It's better to do this now than later, when it's angry and bitter and there's nothing left to save.

 

So "now" it is, and Brendon bowed out just like that, because this was always Ryan's band and Spencer was always Ryan's friend, and Jon was always Ryan's best writing partner, and Brendon just—he just smiled and lifted his chin and talked about a solo career with something that would sound to anybody who didn't know him like real enthusiasm. And Spencer watched him do it, and ached, and nodded and smiled along with Ryan and Jon and started quietly making plans for a new band and a new future, because without Brendon Urie, Panic at the Disco is dead. 

 

Unless.

 

Spencer doesn't know how long he sits staring at the door Ryan left through. He should be busy, should be packing—_(unless, unless)_—should be doing _something, _but he can't. He can't do anything but sit with his heart in his throat, and think about life on a tour bus without Ryan, and think about life on a tour bus without _Brendon, _and think about Brendon being all alone, and think about sitting behind his kit watching a new singer work the stage, and think about a sixteen-year-old boy with long hair and a Blink-182 t-shirt and a fierce, all-consuming determination to make real music with a real band, and think about a fifteen-year-old boy with stupid hair and dorky glasses, standing there in his grandmother's garage all tiny and nervous and spazzy and so fucking _talented, _and think about—

 

"Hey." Brendon stumbles in, yawning widely, and wanders over to pour himself a bowl of cereal. "You look serious. Everything okay?"

 

Spencer stares at him, and feels his mouth go dry.

 

Brendon pauses, cocking his head uncertainly and looking a little bit more alert. "Hey," he says again. "Dude. Seriously, are you okay?"

 

"Do you—" Spencer's voice cracks. He stands up, suddenly shaky, and goes to lean on the counter. He rakes a hand through his hair. "Do you, uh. By chance. Maybe...need a drummer?"

 

Brendon freezes in place, staring at Spencer with eyes so wide Spencer feels like he might fall in and drown.

 

"I mean," Spencer mumbles, nervously, "I know you don't, like, _need _a drummer, you can play everything for yourself and shit, but, uh. If you just happened to _have _a drummer, just, like, laying around or—or, you know, standing in your kitchen like an idiot going, 'take me with you,' would you, uh. Would you _want _one?"

 

"S-Spencer." It's practically a whisper, just a puff of air that shapes his name, and Brendon is standing there like he doesn't even know which way is up anymore, looking so lost and helpless and desperate and hopeful that it makes Spencer's stomach hurt to look at it. "Spence—"

 

"You'll need a touring band, at least," Spencer blurts into the space between them. "I could...I could do that, even if I didn't record, or—"

 

Oh, shit. Brendon's mouth is actually starting to wobble, and his eyes are getting glassy and if he starts crying Spencer is going to _die._ 

 

Brendon drags in a slow, shaky breath, and seems to try to get himself under control. He's still staring at Spencer like he's seeing a miracle he can't quite believe in, though.

 

"You," he says helplessly. "But—Ryan..."

 

"Ryan is my brother," Spencer says awkwardly. "I have it on good authority that nothing can change that. Even if we're...in different bands."

 

Brendon takes an abortive step toward Spencer, his hand coming up like he wants to touch, but he hesitates. "But—and you...you really _want—?"_

 

He's so fucking earnest, and Spencer is the one to close the distance, hauling Brendon into a fierce hug. "I don't want to play for anybody else," he says gruffly, the words muffled in Brendon's hair.

 

Brendon's arms come up around him, squeezing until Spencer almost can't breathe, but it feels good. Better. Better than anything has felt since the world fell apart, at least.

 

Spencer pretends he can't feel the wetness against his neck, where Brendon's face is hidden.

 

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and turns his head slightly to find Ryan standing just outside the doorway, watching quietly, and he can't quite help the apology he knows is written all over his face.

 

Ryan shakes his head, serious and intense and yeah, a little sad. He smiles, though, and looks at Brendon, who is still clinging to Spencer like he's never going to let go, and then Ryan looks back up at Spencer and nods, just once.

 

Spencer bites his lip and nods back.

 

It's not goodbye—Ryan isn't leaving until tomorrow, and he's not going far. The band won't even be officially "over" for months, yet—they want to get the worst of the growing pains behind them before they break it to the fans—and the point of all of this is that they all still want to be friends. Real friends, the kind who text and talk and hang out and enjoy each other, and it'll maybe take some time before that's easy to do, but Spencer knows it will happen. And anyway, Ryan's his brother, so. It's not goodbye.

 

But it's an ending. Life is going to take him down a different road than Ryan for the first time since they were tiny kids, and that's—that's something it's going to take awhile to get used to.

 

Spencer tightens his arms around Brendon and watches Ryan walk away, and yeah. It's an ending.

 

But it's a beginning, too. New and scary and overwhelming, but he's not facing it alone, and neither is Brendon. They have each other to hold onto, and they can do this. They're going to be okay.

 

For the first time, Spencer maybe actually believes it.

 

All four of them. They're going to be okay.

 

—

 

_Fin._


End file.
